


Only

by Arcanista



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anhedonia, Choking, Depression, Dream Sequence, Emotional self-harm, Emotionally Unsatisfying, F/M, I wanted this to be smut but the characters said no, Interstitial Piece, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon, Present Tense, Profoundly Unsatisfying Lack of Sex, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcanista/pseuds/Arcanista
Summary: While on the mend after battling Hades in Amaurot, the heroine Unfortunate Incident finds herself dreaming of the man she killed. It is, she thinks, supposed to be a sex dream. It is not a sex dream.Happens withinChapter 11 of Snag.Of dubious but possible canonicity.





	Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForcedRedacted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForcedRedacted/gifts).

> For ForcedRedacted, who wanted Emet-Selch chastizing Unfortunate Incident in a dream for her recklessness.
> 
> For me, who wanted to write these characters having some manner of sex in advance of hitting the appropriate point in the story and ran headlong into a firm reminder why Snag is such a slow burn.

Caught in a fog between waking and sleeping, Unfortunate finds herself wishing that she could at least dream of _something_, that she could at least tell the difference between the two. Perhaps her vision is clearer in dreams, but the fog of the room is thick either way.

To be reduced to sleeping through one's own dreams is a dreadful fate, she concludes, even for one whose dreams are so often as troubled as hers.

A sound brings her back to herself. "Well, look at you. Something really has run you through the wringer, hasn't it?"

Unfortunate peels her eyes open, squints them until the figure standing across the room for her becomes clear, then shuts her eyes again. "You're dead. Go away."

The soft scrape of boot shuffling across floor indicates that the shade of the Ascian who troubles her dreams has done, in fact, the opposite of going away. "And what sort of greeting is that, hero? I thought you'd be pleased to have a visitor. One whom you needn't feel all that recrimination and guilt over ending."

Which she doesn't. She did what had to be done. No other option, at that point. She squeezes her eyes tighter shut. "My subconscious," she says to no one in particular, "is an asshole."

"Hm." The sound of him sifting through her pile of things, beside her bed. A strange surge of warmth as he closes his hand around-- "Come now. It takes exactly as good care of you as you do of the rest of yourself. Your being in this state is the natural consequence of personal disregard far beyond a single encounter with me. If you hadn't run yourself so ragged prior to that point... hmm, do you think you might have been able to control the Wardens then?"

She opens her eyes slowly. In one gloved hand, Emet-Selch holds a nearly black crystal, giving off a beat of thrumming darkness. In time with her pulse, in time with his. "Put that down. I refuse to have _you_ of all people be the manifestation of my... my... my whatever it is that you're trying to be."

He tosses the crystal onto her clothes; it lands with a soft thump. The pulsing dies the moment it leaves his hand. "Well now, that's an interesting possibility, isn't it? Maybe this isn't a dream. Maybe you've spawned off another of those physical little shades of yours. And all unknowing, you just happened to choose me."

"I think I'd rather you be a dream," Unfortunate mumbles. For a moment she is painfully aware that she is wearing nothing at all beneath the blankets, which is nonsense. If this is a dream, this is all in her head, and thus she knows every aspect of herself. To be nude is nothing. If this is a creation spawned by that damned crystal, then he comes from a part of her that exposes far more than mere flesh.

Emet-Selch moves to stand over her, a smile quirking his lips. "Shall we put it to the test, then? See if you yet dream or wake?" He leans just a little more forward, looking down at her, a tousle of hair falling forward.

Unfortunate lifts one hand and reaches to pinch herself on the arm, as firmly as she can. But nothing changes. She frowns to herself.

"As if a mere pinch would suffice to cut through such a thick medicinal haze," says Emet-Selch. His face hovers over hers, his breath warming her face. He trails one hand up her neck, and drags his index finger up beneath her chin, leather catching against soft flesh. He presses upward, raising her chin higher. The half-smile he shows her is steady, cool and not in the least bit reasurring. "But perhaps..."

His hand shifts, delicately, gently at first; she feels her pulse thudding against those soft leather gloves as he rests his hand against her throat. She swallows, feeling the weight of his palm. And then, so slowly, Emet-Selch begins to squeeze. The pressure builds slowly; he is in no rush. Each breath grows a little harder than the last as he languidly constricts her windpipe. Every droplet of blood that works through her neck, every breath of air passes against his gloved hand, firm and steady and inexorable. Stars begin to swallow her view of the curious look in his eyes; a chill heat rises with each passing second.

Nearly of its own will, Unfortunate's hand jerks to Emet-Selch's wrist and pulls it away from her neck; he does not resist in the slightest. Panting for air, a flush filling her cheeks for real, she says, "Oh, I see now. This is a _sex_ dream."

"Is it?" Emet-Selch asks, removing his hand from Unfortunate's grip. "And yet you've dreamed yourself into such a poor physical state, if dream this be." The back of his hand drifts over her cheek, fingers curled just so as to press his knuckles into her skin. "Are you really going to be satisfied just lying back and _letting_ things happen to you? I don't believe it for a second. You'd dream up a partner who actually _cares_ if that were the case." He smacks her face lightly with the back of his hand; enough to startle, not to sting.

She sits up with an ease that cements in her mind that this is a dream and she had better well enjoy it. She reaches up and grabs his stupid little collar and jerks his head down to her level. Unfortunate hisses, "If you're going to get mouthy with me inside my own head of all places, you'd damn well better do it with something better than _words_." With her other hand, she yanks loose his-- scarf, sash, whatever, the red thing, tossing it aside. She balls her fist up in the layers of robes, knuckles pressing against chest through the fabric.

Half of his mouth jerks up into more of a smirk, but his eyes remain cool, distant. His breath is warm on her face, lips ilms from hers. "Do you intend to make me? I'd love to hear how. After all, if this is a... 'sex dream', doesn't that suggest that I, the proverbial man of your dreams, will simply follow the whim of your most heartfelt desires?" He draws a gloved hand up her chest, letting one of her breasts settle into, spill out of his palm. His gloved thumb catches on her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

"I trust those even less than I trust _you_," Unfortunate hisses onto his lips, yanking him down past her, pulling him to lie perpendicular on the bed, hand flattening out onto his chest. "Even a dream you. Don't try and tell me dreams are _safe_." She shifts, pinning both hands to the dream-Ascian's shoulders, holding him down. Even in a dream, even in _her_ dream, he only has half a smirk, his damn eyes are so calculating, _curious_, he--. "Fuck you. Fuck you for being _attractive_."

Nobody else looks at her like that. Like they want to see what she does next. Daring her-- but only a little bit. She shuts her eyes, feels Emet-Selch breathe beneath her weight. Waiting. Not testing, not in this moment. Fuck her subconscious for being a fucking _asshole_. Fuck her _conscious_ for second-guessing every damn thing her subconscious does. She lets go of him, rolls onto her back.

"Not a sex dream, then, hmm?" Fingers drift against the back of her cheek. "Here you are distressing yourself for nothing. You know, if you were a little less swift to rush headlong into things, you might not have troubled yourself so..." The weight beside her lifts as he sits back up; she opens her eyes to glance over at him, watches him replace that scarf. "But that is the nature of a mind that chooses to harm itself, hmm?"

Unfortunate rights herself on the bed as the dream-shade of Emet-Selch rises, recomposing himself. She runs her hand over her face, exhaling. "I'm not taking that from you, real or imagined. I saw what-- I _saw_."

"Hm." He gently pushes her backwards to lie back down and quite chastely tucks the blankets up around her. "That I am the shape your mind forms to deliver such a sentiment suggests quite the contrary. Though I must wonder-- given your propensity for such encounters with both friendly acquaintance and stranger alike, why _isn't_ this a sex dream?" He bends, and kisses her forehead lightly.

She balls her hands into fists underneath the covers. "I don't have to answer that," she says. Softly. "I want to _rest_." And this such a cruel thing to say, to this figment bearing the face of a man whom she means to rip from his own. But let that reckoning be with the real thing, not the shades she conjures to torment herself.

There is nothing more for her to dream; the haze of medicines reclaiming her into their merciful arms.

**Author's Note:**

> _ [I just made you up to hurt myself. And it worked.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwvLlEtxX3o) _


End file.
